


Faded

by Jennichi



Series: Bancoran/Maraich 30 Kisses Challenge [7]
Category: Patalliro!
Genre: 30 Kisses Challenge, Introspection, M/M, Theme #26 if only I could make you mine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 04:38:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17318231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jennichi/pseuds/Jennichi
Summary: Sometimes Maraich dreamed of the younger Bancoran. It was purely physical, an onslaught of visual images guaranteed to arouse. He would remember a thin wrist, but not the larger scene of a gun and practice range. Or he would get a flash of the shorter hair, the slightly rounder face.





	Faded

Sometimes Maraich dreamed of the younger Bancoran. It was purely physical, an onslaught of visual images guaranteed to arouse. He would remember a thin wrist, but not the larger scene of a gun and practice range. Or he would get a flash of the shorter hair, the slightly rounder face.

He had seen him. It had happened a few years ago, when Patarillo dragged him off into the past. Things had happened so fast he hadn’t had time to reconcile what he saw with the older Bancoran that he knew, and his jealousy had been instantaneous. Back then Bancoran had seemed so carefree. He had been working his way through half the young men in London (the prettier half), and showed no signs of slowing down.

Now Maraich was a little wiser. He knew a few more of Bancoran’s carefully doled out secrets. Still, at night, he dreamed. He wasn’t ashamed, exactly, because he couldn’t even form a clear idea of what it was that he wanted. It wasn’t a younger lover, and it wasn’t a softer one. He couldn’t fool himself into believing he would have the upper hand even with a younger Ban.

He simply remembered and… wanted.

The desire was sharpest when he was alone at night. He would touch himself, but his mind would be far away, drifting in some nebulous past he had pieced together from what he had seen and what he had found out in his own stealthy searches for information. It was never enough.

He had found a picture, once. Some old mugshot buried deep in MI-6 records. It smelled of developing chemicals and mildew when he raised it to his lips. Afterwards, he felt ridiculous. He shoved it back under the stack of files and walked away, his heels clicking out a rapid rhythm in the empty vaults.

He had the real thing, and that should be enough. It was more than enough trouble for him to deal with, without borrowing more.


End file.
